


To Be Empty

by werewolfsquad



Series: last year's antlers [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Huddling For Warmth, Internalized Misogyny, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rare Pairings, Recovery, Recovery from trauma, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Strangers to Lovers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, arthur is alive in this one but he isn't much more than mentioned, i promise it's not as slow as my other fic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-07 00:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsquad/pseuds/werewolfsquad
Summary: Sadie Adler is tired of picking up the pieces of her life. Charlotte Balfour is persisting in an environment that killed her husband. After the fall of the Van der Linde gang brings them face to face, the two women build a relationship through letters and intermittent encounters that helps them both recover and grow.





	1. Barn at Willard’s Rest, 1899

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of folks asked me about Sadie and Charlotte’s relationship when I was writing the previous fic in this series ("but at least the war is over") and, since this fandom always needs more wlw content, I wanted to write something expanding on their relationship on screen, since I wasn’t able to do that when stuck in John’s perspective. 
> 
> Because the timeline of this fic runs concurrent to BALTWIO, this chapter and some following assume some knowledge of the events in that fic, largely just because I don’t want to rehash events I’ve already written. So, I recommend reading at least parts of that fic if you want the context. However! I understand a John/Arthur fic might not be appealing to everyone who wants to read a Sadie/Charlotte fic, so if you let me know in the comments I can give you specific chapters/sections to read of BALTWIO just to get enough context for this fic to make sense (especially since that fic is as long as it is, and the burn is so slow that most of it doesn’t have romantic content beyond pining).
> 
> Anyway, with all that said, I don’t expect this fic to run as long as BALTWIO did, nor have chapters that are quite as long. I really just wanted to write some wholesome content about women recovering from trauma and loving each other.

If there was one thing that Sadie Adler knew, it was that she was goddamn sick of picking up the pieces of her life.

The barn at Willard’s Rest was small, and Sadie was, at that moment, trying to figure out how they’d fit nine horses in it, let alone feed them all. Because that was the thing—Arthur had asked that someone go get his horses before the Van Horn stablemaster got it in his head that they were abandoned and sold them, and Sadie wasn’t about to deny what might now be Arthur’s dying wish. And the man had four goddamn horses.

Bob was easy enough, seeing as he’d stick around if she let him loose in back, and the same might be true of some of Arthur’s horses, once Sadie had a chance to go get them. But they knew nothing about these other four horses. Sure, the man who had sold Sadie the team of Belgians claimed they were calm, well trained, but that didn’t mean they would stick around. And then the two horses John and Arthur had ridden down to Copperhead Landing on had been Pinkerton horses, so who even knew what they’d been trained like. Besides all that, they couldn’t put too many horses in the yard anyway, seeing as folks expected a widow to live alone up at Willard’s Rest.

So Sadie was doing a jigsaw puzzle with too many horses and not enough room, not even stalls to keep them separate, hoping if she jammed them all in that they wouldn’t fight in the night.

And Sadie, of course, was stalling.

She didn’t want to go into the house, was the thing. Because the idea of a little homestead framed by mountains ached in a familiar way, made her throat close and her chest tighten.

For a brief couple months, she’d been okay. Not happy, sure, not when Jake still weighed so heavily on her, but okay. She’d struck a balance, something where if she kept moving, kept fighting, the pain kept steady at a simmer. Killing O’Driscolls took the edge off, made it easier to feel like she was doing something.

But, now, the O’Driscolls were dead and gone, the Van der Linde gang was razed, and one of the last people left she cared about could be dying. As much as Abigail was trying to do, as much as John seemed desperate for Arthur to survive, it hadn’t looked good. Not many men Sadie had known could lose that much blood, go that pale, and come back from it.

If anyone could survive it, it would be Arthur Morgan. But there were some things even Arthur couldn’t come back from.

And Sadie would be left with no one, because she hadn’t let herself close to anyone else, save Abigail. And Abigail was wonderful, of course, had helped Sadie constantly through the worst of the bad times, but Abigail also had a family. It wasn’t right, Sadie knew, to expect the same companionship from Abigail now that the gang was gone, not when the woman had to worry about what was hers.

So here was another life left to the wreckage. Sadie was itching to leave it all behind, itching to leave and to not have to think. Find some other monster to destroy. Arthur’d called them more ghosts than people, a relic of something dead. Sure felt it, to her, that she wasn’t long for this world.

“Mrs. Adler?”

The sound behind her made Sadie flinch, and she cursed herself for getting so wrapped in her own thoughts that she’d stopped paying attention. They were still on the run, after all, and even if Milton was dead, Dutch and Micah on the run, clearly the Pinkertons weren’t backing down yet.

But when she turned, the face that met hers wasn’t a Pinkerton. Of course it wasn’t, because the Pinkertons didn’t hire women, and the woman facing her was anything but a Pinkerton, besides. Thin, like she’d been underfed, and her clothing, though not messy, was well worn, lacking the sort of polish folks tended to get a little closer to the city.

Sadie titled her head, forced a smile. “Mrs. Balfour, right? Hope it’s alright I’m puttin’ these beasts up in your barn.”

Charlotte Balfour was an interesting woman. A widow, living on her own up in the northernmost reaches of New Hanover, that Arthur apparently knew and yet had never mentioned. Knew well enough, in fact, for her to open her home to him and a bunch of strangers with no questions asked.

There were few options for what could compel a woman to be so trusting of a man, and especially a man like Arthur. But some sort of secret lover didn’t sound right, not with what Sadie knew of Arthur’s past relationships (or, relationship) through camp gossip. And Charlotte seemed to care about Arthur, sure, seemed worried for his wellbeing, but not with the desperate kind of worry Sadie associated with love. Especially not when she was out with Sadie when Arthur could be breathing his last.

That was a bad train of thought.

Charlotte smiled back at Sadie, though it was a tentative sort of smile, one that belied the tension lingering in the air. “Of course that’s fine. It’s just—Mr. Marston mentioned you were out here getting them settled. I figured I should show you where we got some hay stored away.”

“Oh.” Truth be told, the most Sadie had thought about that was a vague plan to pick up something when she went to get Arthur’s horses. “Yeah, that—that would be much appreciated.”

“Just up here,” Charlotte said, gesturing at a ladder up to a half loft. “We still have some left from before we sold our horse. Not like it’s much use without him.”

Sadie nodded, climbed up into the loft. Was surprised, when she looked down, to see Charlotte gather up her skirts, start climbing up the ladder behind her. Sent a soft pang through her stomach, and she wasn’t entirely sure what caused it. Something familiar, aching, and she reached out a hand, helped Charlotte up onto the ledge.

She didn’t look like a typical farmwife, was the thing. And Sadie would know. Her palm was soft when Sadie took it, not with the long standing callouses that days of hard work would build. Pretty, Sadie thought, at least compared to herself. Face free of scars, not spattered with the freckles that sun exposure brought.

Soft. Even with the thinness that seemed unusual when paired with everything else about her, she probably was the kind of wife husbands saw as a prize.

The softness wasn’t for a lack of willingness, as far as she could tell, since Charlotte threw down a couple of hay barrels down along with her. More that she seemed new to this, new to living so isolated out in the wilderness. The sort of woman who had never killed something else living. Had never killed someone else living.

Maybe that was a bad line of thought too, because Sadie was worrying at her ring, standing there in the hayloft, wanting to shoot something again. Because this whole goddamn situation was so goddamn frustrating. Sadie had found something she was good at, even after her life crumbled, something that kept her from thinking too much, and now that was gone as well. She couldn’t be Sadie Adler, farmwife. Couldn’t be Sadie Adler, outlaw. All that was left was Sadie Adler, widow. Sadie Adler, alone. At least with blood, she didn’t have to think.

Next to her, Charlotte cleared her throat. When Sadie glanced over at her, she nodded towards the ring that Sadie was still spinning around her finger. “I—I don’t mean to pry, but—but I couldn’t help but think—should we be expecting your husband, or, are you and Arthur…?”

A reasonable sort of assumption, seeing as John and Abigail were some sort of couple, that Sadie and Arthur could be traveling together because they were courting, especially seeing as they were closer to the same age than Arthur and Tilly were. But, “No. My husband died last spring, and I ain’t—” Ain’t cut out for that sort of life anymore, ain’t capable of loving again even if she was at all interested in Arthur, ain’t got anything soft left in her— “We’re just friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And then, a pause, Charlotte biting her lip. When she spoke again, it was slower, halting. “Wish—wish I could say I didn’t know what that was like.”

There was a tone to Charlotte’s voice, a raw edge that Sadie recognized. And that explained something, why Charlotte was so alone up here, save Arthur. Sadie had assumed, Arthur talking about some widow up in the hills, that her husband had been gone a while now. Sadie found her voice soft as she asked, “How long?”

“Just about a month, now. A bear attack.” And Charlotte brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and the way her hand trembled said a lot about how painful that memory was. “We’d just come out here from Chicago, trying to make it on our own. Wanted to get away from the city, and we weren’t exactly prepared for what that would entail. Got lucky that Arthur found me before I starved, taught me to hunt. Just wish it came soon enough to save Cal.”

Ah, so that explained the softness. But—but Charlotte was still here, and that was something that sparked some dull surprise in Sadie’s chest. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a woman to return to civilization after a bear killed her husband—in fact, Sadie wouldn’t even blame one. And, yet, Charlotte was here, persisting, and that was unusual. Willing to learn how to hunt, even, how to survive.

Then again, Sadie couldn’t exactly call the kettle black when she was far from a textbook example on how women should behave when their husband died.

Charlotte had extended a figurative arm. Sadie gave one back. “My husband, he was killed by a gang that came to rob our homestead. Arthur and a couple of his—couple of folks he knew, I guess, is the best way to put it, they came, killed the men still around. It was—was a rough few days ‘til then, though. And Jake, they didn’t get there in time to save his life either.”

When Charlotte reached out a hand, placed it on Sadie’s shoulder, the movement almost made her flinch, as gentle as it was. And her voice, gentler still even through the edge of grief, as she said, “It doesn’t ever get easier, does it?”

Sadie laughed, though she could taste the bitterness of it on her tongue. “I’ll let you know if it does. I ain’t—I ain’t the best to ask about gettin’ over things.”

“Still,” Charlotte said, titling her head, “we widows need to stick together, hmm?”

“Apologies, Mrs. Balfour, but I believe we’ve just met.” Thing was, Sadie couldn’t help the amusement in her voice, even as she stepped over to the ladder, started making her way down it.

“Don’t mean we can’t get to know each other,” Charlotte said, following Sadie down the ladder. “Hard to call ourselves strangers when our mutual friend is laid up in my house.”

The tone of Charlotte’s voice was intentionally light, but even Sadie could tell there was effort to keep it that way. It made sense, of course, that Charlotte would be as affected by Arthur being shot as Sadie was, if Arthur saved her life, kept her from starving. Sadie brushed off her pants, wondered, distantly, about Arthur. Ended up asking, even as she went to cut the twine off the hay bales, “Arthur’s doin’ okay, I guess, if you’re out here?”

Charlotte nodded, stroking a hand over the nose of one of the Belgians. “As good as he can be. The other two women—I don’t remember…?”

“Miss Roberts and Miss Jackson.”

“Right. They had it handled, as far as I could tell. He isn’t great, but I don’t think he’s going right yet. Then again, last man I nursed was Cal, so shows you what I know.”

Sure, but it wasn’t like many people out there could do much for a bear attack. Sadie was lucky enough to not to have witnessed one in person, but she’d seen the aftermath of several, out in the mountains. They weren’t pretty, even if you had a strong stomach.

A silence was starting to settle again, and that wasn’t what Sadie wanted. She still didn’t want to go in the house, not yet. Didn’t want to risk seeing the dregs of a life she used to have, didn’t want to be a part of the somber tone that settled heavy over everyone inside. But—but she didn’t exactly want to be alone either, not when being alone meant itching to grab a gun.

And Charlotte was there, hand soft running over the fur on the Belgian’s thick neck.

Sadie began slow. “You… you wanna help me out with this lot? If—if there ain’t anythin’ pressing, I mean. All these beasts could use a good groom.”

The smile Charlotte gave her back sparked something warm in her chest for the first time in days. “Sure. Happy to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is the latin root for "widowed". Should probably note, the way Sadie thinks of herself does not at all reflect my feelings towards her. Internalized misogyny combined with trauma is a hell of a thing.
> 
> Also, I feel a little weird posting the first chapter of a wlw fic where the main characters only talk about men, but, also, I think it’s hard for Sadie and Charlotte to make that connection without talking about men, since the two things they have in common (being widowed and being friends with Arthur) directly involve men.
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you’re enjoying! It really does encourage me to write.


	2. Letter Excerpts, 1899-1900

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of an odd one since it consists entirely of letters, but is actually what really inspired me to write this piece out in the first place. 
> 
> The letters in this chapter do not account for all the letters Sadie and Charlotte sent each other, just since I imagine there’s a lot of just telling each other how things are going and all those various life events. I’d imagine they sent dozens of letters over eight months, so I figured it was overkill to write them all out. These are some of the more important ones.

November 23rd, 1899

Dear Mrs. Balfour,

I promised you a letter when we left, and so I hope this one finds you well. I still cannot say much about where we are, but please know that our mutual friend is better than last we spoke. We were lucky enough to encounter a doctor (another of his many friends) who was willing to care for him when he was in the worst of infection. He still has not woken, but we are hopeful his fever will cease any day now.

We will be moving again soon, once he is well enough to travel. I expect to be able to inform you where to write back to when next we settle.

Yours respectfully,

Sadie Adler

December 14th, 1899

Dear Mrs. Balfour,

I believe it is safe for me to speak freely to you now. We are staying on a ranch up north, with a man willing to host us despite our history. It is a nice enough place to rest while folks recover.

Arthur is doing about as well as can be expected. Physically, he is recovering. The fever is gone, and, though there may be some lingering damage, his wound is largely healing without issue. His mood, though, is a different issue. John tells me you know of what we were before, and I believe the transition is something hard for a man in that life as long as he was. He does plan to write you, so maybe you will hear something more than he would say to any of us.

As for the others, they seem well enough. John’s shoulder is near healed, and Abigail seems intent on seeing him and Arthur through to healthy. She has dedicated herself largely to survival at the moment, which is a noble enough cause. Jack, their son, seems to see the whole trip as some sort of vacation, which may be for the best. He may yet forget the life he had as a young one and live a life better. And Tilly, I believe, is one of the few of us relieved to finally be free of the world we moved through before. She is young, of course, and may still find a something fulfilling to pursue.

I hope you are well. Your kindness in hosting us has not been forgotten by any of us here. Please address letters to anyone here to Sadie Adler, at the post office in Leighton, AG. I will make sure they end up in the proper hands.

Yours respectfully,

Sadie Adler

December 20th, 1899

Dear Mrs. Adler,

I am pleased to hear that Arthur is recovering. My thoughts are often with him, especially seeing him as badly off as I last did. I am furthermore glad to hear you made it north without complications, as, from my understanding, you all were concerned about the prospects of moving.

I must ask, how are you? In your letters you have mentioned the other people with you, but not yourself. I know we only talked very briefly while you were here, but, I must admit, I feel I know you in a way that I know few other people, due to the way our experiences align. And, because of that, I imagine it cannot be easy, needing to uproot again.

As for myself, it has been quiet around here. Most of the trouble of a month ago has now settled. Last week I went into town to sell pelts, and discovered I had enough saved to purchase a horse. She is a simple thing, older than some people may like a bought horse to be, but still with many years left in her. That is enough for my purposes. I have decided to call her Clover.

I cannot help but remember our conversation in the barn every time I brush her down. I know it wasn’t much, but I do I hope you are well, Mrs. Adler. Please do not hesitate to write, no matter if Arthur is well enough to write himself.

Kindly yours,

Charlotte

P.S. There is no need for formality. Call me Charlotte, please. I said the same to John while you all were here.

December 23rd, 1899

Dear Mrs. Adler,

I am just now thinking about how forward my last letter must have sounded. Please forgive me—I have not written to anyone but family in ages. Please, do not feel obligated to answer anything I ask of you.

Respectfully yours,

Charlotte Balfour

January 4th, 1900

Dear Charlotte,

I hope the new year is doing you well. You were not at all forward in your first letter, so please, don’t worry. In all honestly, I agree, though we only talked briefly, it is a comfort, knowing our lives have similarities. It is an experience I would not wish on anyone, but, as is, I am glad I am not alone in the loss.

It has been an adjustment, I admit, moving again and settling again. My husband, Jake, and I lived up in Ambarino before I lost him, and we owned a piece of land where we kept a few animals. I find that living on a ranch so familiar that it brings unbidden thoughts. Too many of my memories are colored with Jake, and with what happened in that house. Living in a house, watching Abe and May go about their lives, happy and married, feels like watching a version of my life I have been closed off from.

I have been planning to take up bounty hunting. I do not particularly wish to become an outlaw again, but I need something to take up my mind. You asked, back when we spoke in person, whether it gets easier. I have found that it is easier if I continue working to correct the world that took Jake from me. The gang that did it is dead and gone, but there are more men out there doing the same as the O’Driscolls. It keeps me busy, at the least.

Again, I hope you are well. I appreciate hearing from you.

Yours kindly,

Sadie

January 29th, 1900

Dear Sadie,

While I am sure I might have realized it if I put thought to it, I am surprised to hear how violent bounty hunting can be. I am glad to hear you turned in that bounty with little injury to yourself, though I cannot help but think that taking on several armed men alone carries a considerable amount of risk.

It is different, I suppose, when it was a wild animal that took Cal from me, one I will likely never encounter again. It is not my place to tell you what to do, and I would imagine you are doing the world a service in the eyes of many. I just hope that you are taking care to keep yourself safe when doing so.

Weathering the winter is proving to be hard, without Cal. I still wake up sometimes expecting for him to be there next to me. I have now lived at Willard’s Rest for longer without him than I had with him, and yet it seems like I still see him in every piece of this house. Some times I wonder if it would be easier, to go back to Chicago or my family.

But today I went out in the snow despite the cold and shot a deer down by the river. Clover carried the carcass back to the house, where I skinned and butchered it, storing most of the meat in the cellar where, I hope, it will last me a good portion of winter. I cannot help thinking how different this is from how I was even just a handful of months ago, when I hardly could fire a gun, let alone keep myself fed.

I do not believe the change is a bad thing. That is why I have not left yet. Perhaps that is foolish of me, but I suspect I am allowed some foolishness.

Please, be careful. I look forward to hearing from you.

Your friend,

Charlotte

March 17th, 1900

Dear Charlotte,

You asked about John in your last letter. I will need to badger him to send a letter along himself, but, in the meantime, I can tell you he is fine. He had a close encounter with some wolves I believe I mentioned in February, but no one came out of that with any harm done.

Otherwise, everyone here has been the same as last I wrote. We are nearing shearing season now, so I suppose that will keep us all busy, especially since the others seem to have no experience with shearing sheep.

I took a bounty last week, and it quickly became messy. The man was wanted for running moonshine out of his general store. Not a violent person on his own, but he had hired men to protect him. One of them thought it a better proposition to bargain with the bounty’s life to protect himself from me.

I am aware you have expressed some concern with the violence that comes with bounty hunting. To tell you the truth, I have spent these past few months trying not to think much on my life before. There is somewhat of a rhythm that comes with hunting these bounties, one that makes it easier not to remember what I lost.

You said, a while ago, that you did not think your becoming a new person was a bad thing. I cannot say if I would say the same about myself.

I hope you are well, Charlotte.

Your friend,

Sadie

March 25th, 1900

Dear Sadie,

First, I received a letter from John yesterday, so it seems that your badgering worked some good. You never did tell me he and Arthur are looking at buying land. Not that I expect you to update me with every aspect of their lives, of course, but that is exciting!

Next, forgive me I am too presumptuous, but I am not unfamiliar with what you are feeling. It seems like there is a divide between what my life was before losing Cal and what it is now. It feels like there is a place in my chest where a piece of him was, and I can feel the empty space whenever I remember he is not there.

When I write of feeling like I am a different person, and that not being a bad thing, I do mean largely my ability to support myself largely unaided. I still cannot help thinking that I would be happier, were Cal still with me. If I could go back to that life, knowing I would lose what I have learned, I am sure I would chose Cal every time.

I cannot fight against what took him from me, but you can fight against the type of men that lost Jake his life, and that is some thing I cannot pass judgment on you for. If I were on your place, I would not say I would do anything different.

If you tire of fighting, though, I would not blame you.

I look forward to your next letter.

Fondly yours,

Charlotte

April 5th, 1900

Dear Charlotte,

I believe the land is officially bought now. From the sound of it, John and Arthur bought it together, and plan to build a ranch together for the Marston family. Their kinship is something close, though I believe they’re reluctant to acknowledge it. From what Tilly tells me, they have a history deeper that most other folks in their previous profession. There is both good and bad that comes from a relationship like that. I only hope they continue to manage not to kill each other.

On that note, I am planning to accompany them and Charles down to help build this ranch of theirs. By the time you receive this letter, we should have already left, by any luck. You may send any letters to Northaven, AB.

Tilly is staying here, as she has fallen for the son of the ranch owner that has hosted us. I am sure you and I both know how giddy a feeling new love can be, especially as young as they are, but they seem a good fit. I hope she manages a life free of the burden of what used to be.

I have read your last letter several times over, and, I must be honest, I am still not certain what I should be, after Jake, and after what happened to me. I feel caught between not wanting to think and wanting what is gone to me.

However, I must admit, Charlotte, you are one of the few people I feel I can talk freely of this with. Arthur is one of the best men I know, and John is a friend now, but both are men, of course, and not particularly adept at talking about what ails them, let alone being able to handle the thoughts of someone else. I similarly feel reluctant to burden either Abigail or Tilly with these thoughts, when Tilly is young and Abigail has enough to deal with between John and Jack.

For a time, I thought there was little use in talking, seeing as it never seemed to make me feel any better. Perhaps I just hadn’t found the right partner. Stay well, Charlotte, and stay warm. I know winters linger in the mountains.

Yours truly,

Sadie

June 12th, 1900

Dear Sadie,

I was pleased to read in your last letter that John and Arthur’s house has nearly come together. I am happy for them, and for Abigail and Jack. I cannot imagine how it must be for them to have their own home after so long.

Things, as always, are quiet here in New Hanover. With the summer the woods have been rich with all sorts of life. Some travelers passing through along the train line, but largely animals, plants, a rich variety of living things. That vegetable garden I mentioned trying my hand at is growing some, though I fear I may need to rely on canned provisions from Annesburg a fair while longer.

I must say, I find myself thinking of you more and more often these days. I always feel I cannot remember all that goes through my head when I sit down to put pen to paper. However, I find, now, I must be frank—would you like to come visit me here? I find myself lonely, and I have appreciated writing to you these past months. I would be pleased with the opportunity to see your face.

Please let me know, but feel no obligation to say yes. Stay safe, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Affectionately yours,

Charlotte

June 20th, 1900

Charlotte,

I have been thinking over your invitation for a while, and I cannot in my mind find any reason to say no. I am needed on the ranch awhile longer, but, as soon as John, Arthur, and Abigail can spare me, I would love to visit.

Yours,

Sadie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read a lot of old love letters as research for this chapter. It really is a kind of art, especially since folks write much differently than how they talk. These letters don’t conform strictly to conventions of letters around the turn of the century (especially in the case of openings—letters almost never opened with the addressee’s name, instead more often a relationship such as “My Dear Mother”) but I tried to at least keep them close.


	3. Willard’s Rest, 1900

Willard’s Rest was quiet most hours of the day.

Charlotte tried to fill it with noise as best she could, to throw open the windows, let the sounds of the woods outside slip and settle into the house. Made sure the fence around the pasture of Clover, her mare, abutted the house, once she had it fully put together. Hung wind chimes on the porch and hummed and sang and talked to herself and Clover and did everything to make the space noisy.

But, most of the time, it was too damn quiet.

Charlotte _loved_ Willard’s Rest, yes, and she didn’t want to leave it. Not when she had finally found her own rhythm with the hunting, had finally found that she could take care of herself, be something different from what her mother had always assumed she should be.

But the quiet was something suffocating when she was alone in it. If there was one thing she could say she was looking forward to about Sadie Adler visiting, it was the lack of silence.

Charlotte had offered to ride down to Annesburg, meet Sadie at the train station. It wasn’t any trouble, and it gave her something to do. But Sadie had said she remembered the way up, and that she would rather not make Charlotte go out of her way.

Not that it was Charlotte’s place to insist, of course, since Sadie could handle herself. It did, however, leave Charlotte in the time before Sadie arrived circling the house with little to occupy her time, which was never a good place for her to be.

She still wasn’t sure exactly why she had invited Sadie to visit her. She hadn’t been lying, of course, when she wrote that she was thinking of Sadie more and more often, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Sure, they had history in common, both the victims of husbands taken from them well before their time, but there were plenty of widows out in the world, and Charlotte wasn’t inviting any of them to come live in her house.

Charlotte wanted this to go well. Wanted to get along with Sadie, wanted Sadie to get along with her. She found herself intrigued by the other woman, wanting to know more about her, spend time with her. And that wasn’t a feeling she’d felt since she was a young girl, trying to impress the older girls in the schoolyard.

She was scrubbing down the counter for the third time when the sound of hooves up the packed earth of the homestead made her straighten. Clover’s nicker, a sound of recognition towards another horse, confirmed it, and Charlotte tried not to seem too eager as she crossed the room to the window.

Sadie Adler was a unique sort of woman. Not that Charlotte had any right to talk, of course, not when she didn’t exactly know what made a modern frontier woman, but unique in her own eyes, at the very least. She’d been dressed in men’s clothing last Charlotte had seen her, and maybe that was just her normal mode of dress, seeing as she was wearing much the same as she dismounted from the same big, gold dappled stallion that she’d been riding back when she had first been to Willard’s Rest.

In fact, a striking figure all around. Though it had been over a half a year since Charlotte had seen Sadie in person, she knew her face immediately. The scars on her brow and cheekbone, the summer freckles spattered across her face, the blonde hair wrapped into a clean braid. All utility and purpose, a woman who knew the sort of way she wanted to be perceived, and made sure that way was self-assured, strong, not easy to intimidate.

But Charlotte found that she didn’t mind that. Sure, there was a certain way women were expected to behave in the circles she was raised in, ways they were supposed to talk and dress, but she and Cal had left the city to get away from all that. And Charlotte was far from acting that sort of part now, what with the fact that she was supporting herself. If anything, seeing Sadie made her all the more confident that she was headed in the right direction.

She opened the door, stepped outside, and Sadie, previously messing with her saddlebags, swung her head up towards Charlotte. If Charlotte didn’t know any better she’d say she startled Sadie.

“Hi,” Charlotte said, realizing suddenly that, for all her wanting this moment, she had no idea what to say.

“Hello,” Sadie said back, and Charlotte had forgotten the texture of her voice, the rough edge of it. Funny, how she could picture Sadie’s face perfectly but not remember her voice. “Is it—alright if I put Bob up in the barn? Not sure how he’ll get along with—her name is Clover, right?”

“Of course, of course. Clover’s mild mannered, but he still ought to rest before we introduce them. Here, let me take that,” Charlotte said, holding a hand out for the saddlebags. “I put you in the spare room, if that’s alright. Sure it’s more comfortable than sleeping in front of the fire, like you were before.”

“Aw, I didn’t mind that, though.” Sadie passed the saddlebags over, an edge of a smile on her face.

“If there’s a bed, might as well use it, right?” Charlotte said, giving her a smile right back. “Listen, but—but you must be starving, that long a trip. Let me finish what I’ve got on the stove while you get settled, and then you and I can eat some dinner.”

“Sure,” Sadie said, her voice on the low side. “Sure, that sounds lovely.”

* * *

“You—you hunt this yourself?”

Dinner was more awkward than Charlotte had been imagining. For all they’d talked in letters, she was starting to realize that she didn’t really know all that much about who Sadie _was_. Sure, she felt like she had access to Sadie’s feelings about being widowed in a way few—if any—other folks out there did, but, for the rest of it, she didn’t know all that much. And the same was likely true for Sadie about her.

Charlotte’d made a stew, something with rabbit and some summer herbs and vegetables, easy enough and safe enough to feed a stranger without worrying about rejection. Sadie seemed to have liked it—ate it without complaint, though not that Charlotte thought Sadie would complain in the first place. But it had been quiet, Sadie’s question one of the first things to break the silence. And now Sadie was looking at her expectantly, wanting an answer.

Charlotte found herself nodding absentmindedly. “Yes, from rabbits. I’ve found I’ve gotten pretty good at hunting them. It’s the bigger game I’m still learning about, though I’ve brought down a deer or two. There’s a trapper near here that gives me tips sometimes, and Arthur writes with advice when he can.”

The topic seemed to perk Sadie up a little. She put down her spoon, said, “Honestly, I reckon the small game can be tougher, sometimes. Big beasts take some gettin’ the hang of, but once you have enough practice, they’re easier to track and easier to sneak up on.”

Charlotte turned her eyes on Sadie, and, seeing as she was about to ask a question with an obvious answer, put on a sort of false critical air as she asked, “You hunt much?”

Sadie smiled, because she probably saw that Charlotte was trying to gain more information. “Used to a lot more, back when I lived in the mountains. Ain’t had much cause to lately, seein’ as I’ve been… been busy, but it was most of how we lived up there.”

And that gave Charlotte pause, because, of course, right? Of course Sadie knew how to hunt. “It’s odd. I feel I know you so well from our letters, but, then, considering it, we don’t know that much at all. I know—know you said you lived in Ambarino, but I’m just now realizing that I don’t know much more than that.”

“Well, there’s an easy fix for that,” Sadie said, corners of her mouth still curled.

For all Sadie Adler looked every bit the part of a rancher turned outlaw, she was beautiful in her own sort of way. And that shouldn’t have been distracting, shouldn’t have made Charlotte want to stare, but she still had to blink a couple times just to pull her attention onto what Sadie said. Asked, after maybe a conspicuous pause, “And that would be?”

“You ever swapped questions, Charlotte?” And at Charlotte’s headshake, Sadie said, “Was a thing we used to do when I was young. I’ll start. You came from Chicago, right? You grow up there?”

“Not Chicago, no, but Columbus. Ohio. Similar sort of atmosphere. My father was in the war, got a job in the government there.” And then, Charlotte starting to realize the rules of the game, “What about you? Where’d you grow up?”

“My family used to live just west of Ambarino, though it weren’t ever in one place. My pa worked with lumber in the right seasons, and so we had to move to wherever they were loggin’.” And there was a spark of something bittersweet in Sadie’s eyes when she said, “Met Jake when the loggin’ moved us into Ambarino, right around when I was seventeen. His family lived up there. My ma and sister, they was ready to settle down somewhere, and so me and Jake got close.”

“Imagine those were some cold winters,” Charlotte said, mostly to put the conversation back into something lighter. It wasn’t that she didn’t ever want to talk about Jake and Cal, but this was getting to know each other. They had time for all that later.

“Mm-hm,” Sadie hummed. “Like nothing else. So, what does one do as a kid in the city?

“If you’ve got a family like mine? Not much besides learn to be a lady around all the government types. Was part of the reason Cal and I eloped.”

Something glimmered in Sadie’s eyes. “Ah. Didn’t take you for a rebel, Mrs. Balfour.”

Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face, dipped her head. “Not a rebel, not really. Just tired of that world and wanted to try something new. Cal and I went to Chicago, and then, when the city there was just as bad, we tried moving out here.” And there was the line Charlotte herself didn’t want to cross, didn’t want to think too hard about. Instead asked, “Where’s your family now?”

“Parents have passed. There was a bad bout of sickness a handful of years back, and my ma wasn’t far behind my pa when the sickness got him. Been a while, though, and we knew it was comin’, so I ain’t still tore up about it. My sister’s still around, but she’s got a whole family now. I ain’t wanted to bother her when—when what happened happened.”

“Suppose it’s the same reason I haven’t gone back to the city and my parents.” Because Charlotte had never even considered anything but staying after Cal had died, because crawling back home after everything seemed like giving in to both the world she’d left and the world that had killed Cal. If it was humans Sadie was fighting, humans that had taken Jake, of course she wouldn’t be able to just let it go.

“Seems like it,” Sadie said, head titled. “Here, let’s go lighter. You ever worn trousers?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Not really. Used to dress in my brother’s clothes for games when I was young, but my mother got me out of that habit quick. Haven’t ever thought about it since then.”

And that got Sadie to grin at her. “We oughta get you some, then. Would make huntin’ easier.”

“Believe I’m already doing well enough on my own,” Charlotte said, gesturing to her own bowl of stew.

She meant it to be something lighthearted, poking at the way Sadie seemed to believe she was still entirely some inexperienced city girl, but the wincing expression on Sadie’s face showed well enough that it didn’t land that way, all the more emphasized by Sadie saying, “Right, I wasn’t—”

“No, no, I know.” Lord, it seemed like, for as well as the conversation had been going, they were still walking on eggshells around each other. “Listen, you don’t—don’t need to be careful of hurting my feelings. I’ve been through much harder than being accused of not hunting as well as I could.”

“But that ain’t even—” A pause, Sadie working through her thoughts, maybe— “Was… was just thinkin’, turns out it’s a lot easier to not stick my foot in my mouth when I’m writin’ you letters. Easier to plan out what I’m gonna say.”

“Same goes for me, then. I’m not particularly adept at talking either.” And that was true, because that had been why Charlotte had hated the political society. Too much talking, not any of it genuine.

“Sure, but you don’t…” Sadie bit her lip, before huffing out a sigh. “I’m gonna be honest here, I ain’t—I ain’t used to this. To—to building a sort of friendship between people. Sure, Arthur and Abigail, they’re friends, John and Tilly too, but we was forced together, and I wasn’t in the best place for most of that time. And then Jake and I was alone for a long time before that. Think I got used to not talking to folks.”

But Charlotte shrugged, tried to look casual, because she didn’t want to lose the progress they’d made. “So we both need practice. Here, here’s a question for you, then. What’s something you miss doing that you haven’t been able to do in a long while?”

Sadie paused, chewed at her cheek. “…Fishin’, I think. Used to be when the summer had thawed out most of the mountains, me and Jake, we’d go down to the lake, catch salmon. Wasted most of the day, sure, but we’d always catch enough to feed us that night and would smoke the rest of them. Ain’t been—ain’t been ‘cause it ain’t such a good idea to be alone with my thoughts that long anymore. But I reckon that’s what I miss.”

And Charlotte was going to open her mouth to speak, going to offer to go fishing even though she had less than any experience with the activity, but it seemed Sadie was ahead of her. Cocked her head to the side, asked Charlotte, “Tell me, Arthur taught you huntin’, but do you know how to trap? Or fish?”

Charlotte couldn’t help the smile breaking onto her face. “No, Sadie, I don’t believe I do.”

“Well then,” Sadie said, tapping a hand on the table, “maybe we oughta get you a fishin’ pole.”

“I would love that, Mrs. Adler,” Charlotte said, and meant it.

* * *

Fishing, Charlotte decided, was pretty boring, but maybe that was some of the point of it. The line didn’t need constant attention, not when Sadie had stuck one end of the pole in the sand of the riverbank, just needed enough of an eye to know when a fish was going after it. Not something Charlotte could do when there was work to be done around the house, but maybe on a day when what she had to do was mobile, could be brought down to the water, like mending or knitting or something similar, maybe she could kill two birds with one stone.

But, at the moment, when there was little else to do, she and Sadie were talking.

She’d learned a fair amount about Sadie in the past day, and shared just as much about herself. Largely it had been focused around their past, the lives they’d had before things went bad, but Sadie had also talked a bit about the life she’d led in the gang, the one Arthur and the others had been a part of.

And that was something Charlotte found herself surprised by again and again. Sure, she’d guessed at what Arthur was not long after she met him, just with the way he composed himself, but she hadn’t really thought about what that meant. Growing up in the city, she’d heard tales of outlaws. She and her brother used to buy dime novels with the little spending money they were allowed, read them voraciously in between lessons. Outlaws in those books were either heroes, larger than life kind of figures, or they were violent villains, ones that got what was coming from them. Either way, nothing more than stories.

But the Van Der Linde gang, as Sadie called them, had been surprisingly human. And the same went for all the folks Charlotte knew that were part of it, Arthur and Sadie, John and Tilly and Abigail. All real, beating heart humans, complicated and messy and hurting. Because that was it, wasn’t it? Wasn’t everyone she talked to from that life hurting?

Sadie sure was, and Charlotte could hear it all over, in both the conversations about Jake and, now, in their talking about the end of the gang. Of the violence and the rifts and the breaking down of trust in one another.

As Sadie mentioned one more argument she’d gotten into in camp with one of her former friends just a few weeks before she and Charlotte had met, Charlotte found herself asking, “Was it really that bad?”

Sadie sighed, and the breath made the loose hair falling out of her braid twitch. “Not at first, no. I was at the edges at the beginning, tryin’ to get myself together, but even then I could see they was a family, and that Dutch was someone folks rallied around for a reason. Weren’t long after that he started gettin’ paranoid, though, and folks started dyin’. Figured once he turned on Arthur, we ain’t had much time left.”

Charlotte had, of course, heard of Dutch van der Linde before. Few people hadn’t, even as far east as they were. But the stories were different from the person, that much Charlotte knew. “Suppose he was quite the leader then. Dutch, I mean, if he kept so many people for so long.”

But Sadie just shrugged her shoulders. “I guess. Reckon he mostly knew when to tell folks the right things, keep stringin’ ‘em along. For all them pretty words, seemed it was me and Arthur and some other folks pickin’ up the slack, there at the end, takin’ care of folks. Maybe he was different before. I ain’t ever seen much of, though.”

“I still can’t picture it,” Charlotte said. “Seems so far from anything I’ve ever done.”

“Was what I thought too. Turns out sometimes things change.” And Sadie shrugged again, resettled herself on the rock she was sitting on.

That was an interesting thought. Because Charlotte knew intimately what it was like, having things change, and far from in the way she wanted. But knowing the pain of loss, knowing how drastically a life could change, she couldn’t ever see herself becoming an outlaw, entrenching herself in a life so focused on watching one’s back as Sadie was.

Then again, it wasn’t like it was a gang that killed Cal. As she’d written to Sadie, it wasn’t like Charlotte could go on some sort of campaign against bears. She didn’t know what it was like to have a realistic chance to fight against what caused her loss.

“Speaking of things changing, what are you planning to do after this, Sadie? After leaving here, I mean.” And then, realizing that it might sound like she was pushing Sadie to leave, when that was far from the case, Charlotte added, “Seeing as you always seem to have some way forward.”

“Bounty huntin’,” Sadie said, a flat sort of tone to her voice. “Seems like that’s all I’m doin’ these days.”

“Is that…” Charlotte bit her lip, decided to press forward. “Is that what you want to do?”

“Ain’t sure if it’s at all about what I want to do. Don’t got much else left to me. Feels… ah, I dunno.”

It wasn’t like Charlotte wanted to force Sadie to talk about the life she’d left, nor the life she had then built around grief. She knew well enough how deep those sorts of wells of hurt ran. She had reached an equilibrium most days with Cal, where she could leave herself in the happier memories and not remember the worst of the days before and following his death. She wasn’t exactly excited by the idea of returning to those memories, not when they stung like they did.

But they were something different than the rest of the world, or the rest of the folks they knew, at least. Talking to Sadie in letters, the way she had, was one of the first times Charlotte had felt anything but overwhelming grief when thinking about Cal. And Sadie was still hurting.

So Charlotte bit her lower lip, dropped her gaze down to where her hands rested in her own lap. Kept her voice gentle as she said, “Listen, Sadie, I’m not going to judge you or anything like that. We’ve got something inside us that’s been cracked, and hell if I know if we’re able to put it back together. With Cal, it’s like—like a piece of me went with him. And I’m living with the idea that I might not ever get that bit of me back. But—but I think we’re alike. And we’re all we’re going to get, if that… if that makes sense.” And then, second-guessing herself, “I don’t—I don’t mean—”

But Sadie shook her head. “No, no I see what you’re sayin’. I… I’m tryin’ here.”

“Take your time,” Charlotte said, soft.

Finally, after a long pause, Sadie said, slow, “Think… think sometimes I’m nothin’ more than the monster they made me. Takin’ Jake from me, and—and those few days before Arthur and the others found me. I ain’t sure anymore what I got beyond the violence, now. Nothin’ else out there I’m good at.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Charlotte said, and it wasn’t a lie, wasn’t niceties. There were a lot of words Charlotte would use to describe Sadie Adler, and monster wasn’t one of them.

But it didn’t seem to convince Sadie, because all she did was let loose a bitter laugh, the rasp in her voice making it harsh. “Nah, I am. Apologies, Charlotte, but I—I’ve killed a lot of folks, and I only been at this sort of life a year. And I keep doin’ it ‘cause it don’t hurt so much when I’m out there. When I don’t need to think about it. And seein’ them fall, it’s like—maybe it’s making things right. And the killin’, it’s—it’s addictin’, in a way. Dutch, he had this mantra he used to go on about, sayin’ that revenge was a fool’s game. But he never held true to it, not that I saw, and I think I know why. It’s because, when you’re hurtin’, it’s the only thing that can touch the hurt.” Sadie shrugged, and there was something rough to her voice when she said, “So I’m a monster. At least I’m only one who kills bad folks.”

Charlotte was surprised by how much that stung her. The idea that someone was a monster just for being hurt, for fighting against a world that had destroyed the life she’d had, that wasn’t fair, not if they were working to be a better person, to get better. Sadie had killed folks, sure, but Charlotte had made peace with that when she opened her home to Arthur and the folks he saw as family. Just having lived in a harsh world wasn’t cause for considering someone ruined forever.

“If… if that’s how you want to think, that’s fine, because I can’t tell you what’s in your head. But—but I still don’t think you’re a monster,” Charlotte said, and the sincerity in her voice surprised even herself. And when Sadie huffed a sigh, turned her head away from her, she continued, a touch more impatiently, “You’ve had a lot of bad done to you, sure, and you took the only road you thought you had to fight against the bad. But—but from what you said, about the life you were in, Arthur did the same, and you don’t see me calling him a monster. What makes you different?”

“Arthur found his way out,” Sadie said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Her eyes hard, tight, like there was no room for any other explanation.

“But couldn’t you? From what you told me, he was what he was a lot longer than you were. Why are you different from what he is?”

"’cause…” And Sadie rolled her shoulders, tilted her head away from Charlotte. “’cause Arthur’s got family. He’s got folks that care about him, and he’s doin’ what’s best for them. What’s goin’ to make them feel better. And those folks care whether he lives or dies.”

Is that really what she believed? Hell, Charlotte knew very little about Sadie still, and she knew that people cared about her too. That was clear from the way she talked about the folks back on the ranch in her letters, and the way they talked about her in return. “And you think those people don’t care about you too? Sadie, _I_ care about you, and I’ve barely met you. Sure, I’m not family, but I—but I care. I care whether you live or die.” And then Charlotte paused there, because the admission flared something in her stomach, something warm and aching. Because didn’t she care about Sadie?

Sadie was an easy person to care about. That Charlotte knew for sure.

And Sadie still wasn’t looking at her, instead was looking out at the fishing line, and her eyes were tinged with something red around the edges. Charlotte wondered, some sly thought that snaked into her head, how long it had been since Sadie had known someone cared about her.

She wanted to fix this. Wanted Sadie to see the worth of herself, because that was something she deserved. Charlotte coached her voice into something softer, said, “Let me ask you this. What would Jake have wanted for you, once he was gone?”

And that got Sadie to glance over at her, and her eyebrows were low, but not in an angry sort of way. Something more questioning. And though Charlotte hadn’t had Sadie mad at her yet, no matter how much she seemed to be pushing, it was still a relief that the other woman was listening to her.

She continued, “Because Cal, he would’ve wanted me to be happy, whatever came after him. That’s all we ever really wanted for each other, all the time we were together. If you aren’t happy with the bounty hunting, then—then what’s the point, exactly?”

Sadie’s eyebrows dropped lower. “The point is puttin’ bad men in the ground. Keepin’ them from hurtin’ folks. That ain’t nothin’.”

Charlotte leaned forward, enough so she could reach out and touch Sadie if she wanted to. “But what good is that if you run yourself into the ground? You aren’t invincible, Sadie, and you aren’t going to do any good if you’re dead. And, it isn’t—it isn’t a bad thing to take care of yourself every now and then. You and I, we’ve been through something that I wouldn’t wish on anything else.”

Next to her, Sadie sighed, turned her head away again. Asked, “Don’t that mean we’re owed a little vengeance, though?”

“We’re owed a little _happiness_, Sadie. If you want to keep bounty hunting, fine. But… but your happiness should matter, whatever you do.” And Charlotte reached out a hand, put it on one of Sadie’s knees. “You don’t have to figure it out now. But… but I wanted you to know that I—I think you deserve that much. And that there’s something for you outside of that life.”

A long pause, before Sadie nodded, glanced back up at Charlotte. “I’ll think on it alright? I ain’t quite sure if I’m ready to give it up.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Charlotte replied, and she meant it.

She was surprised when Sadie put her hand on Charlotte’s own, and the smile that crossed Sadie’s face, the genuine nature of it, made an odd sort of fluttering begin in Charlotte’s stomach as the other woman said, “But thank you, though. I ain’t—ain’t so good with all this, like I mentioned. But thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I—I’m grateful you’re here, Sadie. Things—things were lonely, without you here.”

“For the record, I’m glad I’m here too.” And Sadie smiled one moment longer, and then removed her hand from Charlotte’s. Made to stand, saying, “Now, I think some fish has long since stolen our bait.”

Charlotte immediately went to join her, eager to learn what she could. But long after Sadie’d released her hand, Charlotte could feel the impression of Sadie’s skin against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t played online and I searched for but couldn’t find that post summing up new details about Sadie and Jake’s life on the ranch added by their appearance in online, so I apologize for any incorrect information! I’m going by vague memory here.


	4. Roanoke Ridge, 1901

“You sure you’re gonna be warm enough?” Sadie couldn’t help herself asking.

“I’ve been out in the snow before,” Charlotte shot back, giving Sadie a half-serious sort of glare.

“Sure, but not overnight. I’m just sayin’, there’s a difference between bein’ in a warm house and bein’ in a tent.”

Willard’s Rest wasn’t quite as far in the mountains as Sadie had been up in Ambarino, but it still was tucked into the northernmost reaches of New Hanover where the winters were anything but fair. The winter of 1901 had proved to be no exception so far. Not long after Sadie had arrived at the homestead a blizzard had hit, covering the surrounding forest with a decent layer of snow that seemed not particularly inclined to melt away.

It was in this snowfall that Charlotte had proposed the idea of an overnight hunting trip. Sure, it was snowy, but not that cold as things went, certainly not the bitter, biting cold fronts that hit sometimes, and even mild enough during the day that deer would be venturing out, looking for food.

And, of course, since Sadie was the experienced one here when it came to hunting in the winter snows, she was the one invited along. Not like she minded, of course, seeing as she liked spending time with Charlotte, but it did seem like they were falling into something of a pattern. Sadie teaching Charlotte new skills or helping her improve on one she had, and Charlotte encouraging Sadie to talk to her, to work through the things that had been festering in the back of her head.

And _that_ was an interesting experience. Because Sadie had closed herself off to talking entirely after Jake died. Sure, Abigail had tried, had sat with her on long nights where all she could do was sob, but things were still too raw then. Even thinking of Jake had been like rending open a wound that had barely even clotted.

But now she was talking. And, while she couldn’t quite say she was enjoying the talking, not when it brought up bad memories, she found that the conversations with Charlotte eased something knotted tight inside her. Sure, mostly they were about meaningless things, about what had made her happy living with Jake, about what Charlotte found so endearing about Cal, but, still, there was something lightening about them.

Of course, that didn’t mean that Sadie thought this hunting trip was an entirely good idea. Yes, this was Charlotte’s second winter at Willard’s Rest, but that didn’t mean she knew anything about the cold, not when she had four walls and firewood to keep her warm.

And, yet, Sadie was going to indulge her anyway.

“Just pack one more wool sweater. For me?” Sadie found herself asking as Charlotte hefted the saddlebags over her shoulder, crossed the living room towards the door.

“For you, Mrs. Adler,” Charlotte replied, looking back at Sadie, a teasing half smile on her face, “I’d do near anything.”

And there was the fluttering in Sadie’s chest that had become more and more common these days. If she didn’t know better, she’d put a name to it.

If she didn’t know better.

* * *

They rode out in the morning, when the sun was just starting to cut through the bite in the air. Sadie knew where they were heading, seeing as she and Charlotte had been hunting there when the weather was milder. A quiet area, just past the train tracks, where the deer tended to forage for the foliage that was tucked between the trees.

It wasn’t a long ride, but the snow made it harder, tired the horses more quickly, and that was even at the pace they’d slowed them to. Meant what took them a few hours in the summer turned into nearly twice that in the winter.

But that Sadie had been expecting, and she’d told Charlotte as much before they left. It was why they planned to go somewhere close by after Charlotte had suggested the trip, just enough for Sadie to show Charlotte some tricks about hunting and surviving in the snow. And she’d also been expecting to end up with a leaner turnout in terms of the game they caught. Fewer animals out and about, and less meat on the bones of the ones that were there.

But that wasn’t the goal of this whole endeavor, and that wasn’t why Sadie had agreed to come. Charlotte had meat enough to last until at least early March, when game would be easier to find, and Charlotte could always make a trip down to Annesburg if she got desperate, seeing as she had funds enough from selling pelts.

No, Sadie was out here, helping Charlotte hunt in the snow, for the expressions Charlotte made when she found a set of fresh tracks in the snow, for the joy in her voice when she leaned over to whisper in Sadie’s ear about an animal she had spotted, for the focus in her eyes when she stared down the sights of a rifle. For the smile that so often seemed to be thrown Sadie’s way.

Sometimes, Sadie thought that it might not be all bad to live the rest of her life like this. Problem was, she’d already seen how quickly a life like this could be taken away.

They’d been nearly done for the day when it happened. One buck slung over Bob’s rump, a couple of rabbits strung to Clover’s saddle. Few animals as there were, it was still a good enough haul, with plenty to butcher and freeze, enough to last Charlotte a while longer. Enough to sustain the quiet little life up at Willard’s Rest. It was climbing up a little ridge to make camp on the other side that Sadie nearly rode Bob straight into a bear.

Bob was generally a horse with a good enough disposition. Sure, he had his more stallion-type moments, sometimes giddy over a nearby mare or concerned with posturing, but Sadie had been dealing with temperamental men her entire life. She could push him through most of his moods, and in most other respects he was a good horse. Smart but not clever, mild-mannered but not a pushover, and all around not quick to spook.

Of course, stumbling up on a black bear not twenty feet away would make even the best of horses spook. And when Bob did spook, he spooked hard.

Why the bear was out of hibernation, Sadie wasn’t sure. What she did know, however, is that she was coming out of the saddle even if she tried to stick it. So she made the best of it, threw her leg over Bob’s back so she landed on her feet in the snow. Still ended up rolling once, covering her back with snow, but was on her feet near instantly, staring down a black bear.

Sadie wasn’t particularly worried about the bear itself. Unlike a grizzly, black bears were cowards, more apt to run away when they saw a human than try to attack one. They only really got dangerous if they were starving and desperate, or a mother with cubs. Usually just shouting and flapping one’s arms was enough to drive a black bear away. So that wasn’t a concern.

No, what worried Sadie was what met her eyes when she turned her head to the side, rested them on where Charlotte had dismounted next to her, rifle clutched in her hand.

Charlotte was well adjusted almost to the point of frustration, sometimes so calm that it made Sadie antsy by proxy. Sure, Sadie didn’t think she was over Cal’s death, not by the way she talked about it, but she seemed able to control her grief in a way Sadie couldn’t, not when it was so easy to wash her mind out with blood.

Now, though.

Now Charlotte’s fingers were clenched hard on the rifle, pressure clear even through her gloves. Eyes wide, chest heaving, and Sadie knew well the look of someone in an outright panic.

The bear took one more step forward, more curious than anything else, and Charlotte flinched hard, brought the riffle up to point at the bear. And _that_ was going to end badly.

“No, no you don’t want to do that, okay?” Sadie said hurriedly, held a hand out in front of Charlotte. “Watch.” And Sadie cupped her hands around her mouth, shouted, “Hey! Go on, get!”

The bear jerked its head up, took a step to the side. And when it paused there, seemingly waiting for Sadie to make another move, Sadie shouted again, waved her arms, and took a step forward.

That was enough. The bear wheeled, made its lumbering way away from them. And then it was just them again, alone in the snow-muffled woods.

Sadie was over to Charlotte near immediately, taking the rifle from her gloved hands. And Charlotte let her, just kept staring after where the bear had disappeared into the woods.

Sadie grabbed one of Charlotte’s arms, said, “Charlotte. Charlotte, hey—”

She’d wanted Charlotte to look at her, but when she turned her eyes to Sadie that was almost worse. Eyes still panicked, ringed red at the edges. And something bubbled in Sadie’s stomach, made her want to cry too, even as Charlotte stuttered, “I, I don’t—”

“You alright?” Sadie said, her voice low, trying to be something close to soothing.

“I—” Charlotte’s eyes flicking over Sadie’s face, before flicking upwards. “You have snow all over your—” And Charlotte reached out, going to touch Sadie’s hair, uncovered from her hat falling off when she rolled off of Bob, and Sadie flinched away involuntarily. And immediately regretted the action, because Charlotte immediately withdrew her hand, stuttered, “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no, no, I just—” And Sadie bit her lip, turned her head away. Christ, she wanted that touch, wanted to feel Charlotte’s hands warm across her face, but she couldn’t—

Couldn’t risk the possibility—

This was all she goddamn had now. And Charlotte was still looking with her with wide, distressed eyes, and Sadie found her voice rough as she repeated, “Are you—are you alright?”

“Are _you_?” There was an edge to Charlotte’s voice, something that made Sadie’s chest ache.

“Course, I’m fine. You ain’t—you ain’t gotta be worried about me, okay?” Christ, when was the last time someone had been _worried_ for her, and worried to this extent?

“I saw you—saw you fall off and—oh, Sadie, I—” Charlotte’s voice cracked, and there were now tears rolling down her face, and Sadie couldn’t help herself when she caught Charlotte by the arm, pulled her close.

“I know, I know, but I know how to handle myself, right? I’m fine, you’re fine, so—so just…” And she brought a hand up, brushed the tears from Charlotte’s face, said, “Just don’t cry for my sake, alright?”

The next moment, she was in Charlotte’s arms as the other woman embraced her. And the surprise made her body stiff at first, but she just as quickly relaxed, brought her arms up to wrap around Charlotte’s back.

She knew why the other woman was upset, of course. This was almost definitely the first time Charlotte had seen a bear since her husband was killed. What Sadie couldn’t figure out, though, as Charlotte sobbed into her shoulder, was why Charlotte was so goddamn worried for Sadie’s skin. There wasn’t any use to it, not when Sadie was living her life like she did. Every time she took a bounty, that was another chance she wouldn’t come back from it, and Sadie couldn’t say that was entirely something bad. She’d lost herself to the violence, she knew that, knew there wasn’t much she had left worth anything.

But Charlotte, Charlotte was kind, and beautiful, and smart, and a damn good hunter for someone at it as little time as she had been. There was potential of a life for her, a happy one, one where she grew old and lived good and was loved.

Then again, Charlotte was pretty loved already.

Finally Charlotte released Sadie, leaned back and scraped a sleeved arm over her face. It didn’t help much, her eyes still puffy and red and her voice a touch raw when she said, “I’m sorry, I—I just haven’t seen a bear since—since—”

Sadie didn’t move her hand from where it was resting on Charlotte’s shoulder. “No, I know, you don’t have to say. It’s—it’s understandable, okay? It’s beyond understandable. I—I clearly know the feelin’.”

That got an exhausted little chuckle out of Charlotte, and she sniffed, looked back toward where the bear disappeared. Asked, quietly, “Why—why didn’t you let me kill it?”

“Because that wouldn’t—” What, wouldn’t change anything? And what right did Sadie have to say something about killing a thing that wasn’t directly responsible for the pain caused to her? Instead she went a different route, gestured vaguely towards where Charlotte had been looking. “That, that right there, that was a black bear, and they’re cowards. It took a look at us, sure, might’ve turned that look into a pass if it was desperate, but unless it was a mother with cubs, it wasn’t going to risk anythin’ if it thought us a threat. Grizzlies, sure, that’s another story, but I ain’t…” And Sadie swallowed, looked up at Charlotte. “Listen, I don’t want you to need to kill somethin’ if you don’t have to, alright? ‘cause we’ve known each other enough to for me to know that you ain’t that sort of person.”

“That’s—” Charlotte started, then paused dropped her gaze from Sadie’s. Words tripping, stumbling, “That—I—”

Sadie shook her head, pushed harder, a tinge in her voice when she said, “It’s true, alright? And you oughta, oughta know—that sort of thing? It don’t make you feel any better. I killed—killed a lot of bad men, some who took things I loved from me, and sure, it’s good seein’ them dead at first but…” And Sadie bit her lip, ducked her head down. “But it don’t change nothin’. Jake’s still dead, and I’m still here without him, and I gotta live with that. You can try to ignore it, but, but it ain’t gonna go away even with seein’ that bear dead. You—you understand?”

When Sadie glanced back up at Charlotte, her eyes were still red, but there was something understanding in her eyes, the way her brow creased. Even then, she turned her head away when Sadie looked at her, said, slow, “Yes. Yes, I just—” Heaved a sigh, and Sadie brushed her hand over Charlotte’s arm again, let her continue, “Sometimes I think I’m okay, that I’ve finally settled myself with his death, and then I’ll think of him and just ache and ache and want to scream and throw things and sob and I can’t control it. I—I miss him so goddamn much, Sadie.”

“I know,” Sadie said, and then, “Christ, do I know. But you—you can’t let yourself end up like me, right? _I_ ain’t gonna let you end up like me.”

That got a head tilt out of Charlotte, and this time it was her hand to come to Sadie’s shoulder. “You know, you aren’t as bad as you think you are.”

Sadie snorted. “Sure.” Whistled for the horses, now that they were out of immediate danger, knowing Clover would follow Bob when he came back.

“I mean that, Sadie. You’re acting like there’s something irredeemable about you, but I know that isn’t true. There’s something worth being loved inside of you, Sadie Adler, no matter how much you try to pretend you haven’t got a kernel of good left in you. I—” And Charlotte’s voice cracked, even as she looked hard at Sadie— “I know there are folks that love you.”

Sadie blinked. “I…” she started before trailing off.

Because what was she supposed to say to that? That she was broken? That the ordeal of Jake and the O’Driscolls had taken something from her that she didn’t ever think she would get back? That, despite all that, Charlotte made the hurting pieces inside her ease in a way they never had before, not since what she’d lost had torn her open? That she didn’t deserve Charlotte, even if she admitted what she was feeling in her chest?

“I—” And then, losing her nerve— “we, we should set up camp, okay? It’s—it’s gonna get cold fast.”

Charlotte looked at her one last moment, before the corners of her mouth turned down and she turned her head away. “Alright,” she said, and then, after a sigh, “alright.”

* * *

They ended up trekking a bit further before setting camp, wanting to put themselves out of the possibility of the bear showing back up. Even then, Sadie was planning to secure the hunted game up a tree, far from where the bear might knock it down.

On their way to the proposed campsite, Sadie paused, looking out over a ridge, out to where smoke was rising partway across the valley. Railroad construction, she realized. She’d seen as she came through when coming down to Willard’s Rest where the railroad company was tunneling through the rock, trying to join two existing sections of track. Probably, if Sadie knew anything about tunneling, using dynamite to do so.

She pointed it out to Charlotte. “You see that, right there? Imagine that’s what woke the bear up. It just wanted to get away from all those loud noises disturbin’ its rest.”

“Probably was just as scared as I was,” Charlotte said quietly, and Sadie just nodded in agreement.

Things were quiet between them, now. Quiet as they rode to the campsite, quiet as they set it up. Sadie showed Charlotte how to build a fire in the snow, how to hang a carcass from a tree where it wouldn’t be eaten by animals, where to dig through the snow to set the poles of the tent, and still things were quiet.

Finally, when they were eating the dinner cooked over the fire, still without much going on between them, Sadie couldn’t help asking, “You okay?” Because it had been ages since she and Charlotte had been this closed off around each other, and Sadie didn’t doubt it had something to do with what they’d just been through.

But Charlotte just nodded. “Fine, I’ve just—just had a lot on my mind.”

“That’s understandable.”

And Charlotte sighed, air coming out of her mouth in a cloud, even as she held her hands up to the fire. “I hate to admit it, but you may have been right about not being dressed warm enough.”

“Yeah, it tends to hit you when you stop movin’.”

“I’m not looking forward to tonight, to tell you the truth. Going to need to layer up at the very least.”

Sadie paused, then, after a moment. “I—I might have an idea about that, actually. If you’re alright with it. Get—get yourself ready for bed, and I’ll show you.”

It was to keep them warm, Sadie told herself, as she stripped down to her underwear before pulling on a warm wool shirt over her chest, clean socks over her feet. Of course it was warmer, sharing a bedroll, letting their combined body heat warm the blankets and their clothing.

Still, Sadie thought, she couldn’t deny that the closeness was appealing for another reason too.

She shook out the bedrolls they’d brought, gestured Charlotte over. “See, if we layer them like this, we can trap the heat from both of us. Makes things warmer.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, and Sadie couldn’t tell what the tone in her voice meant, what she thought about the whole endeavor. Still, she slipped under the blankets, held them open for Charlotte to slide in next to her.

It was only after they had settled down, Sadie blowing out the lantern before pulling the blankets up, back to Charlotte’s back, that she titled her head up, asked, “Is this okay?”

The moment before Charlotte answered her felt like an eternity. And when Charlotte breathed in, Sadie could feel it against her back, close as they were to prevent cold air from seeping through. “It’s—it’s more than okay, Sadie. It…” A pause, and then, almost said like Charlotte had changed her mind about something, “It’s very warm. Thank you.”

“It’s nothin’.”

Sadie’s heart was pounding, and she couldn’t admit to herself why it was. They had something good going, her and Charlotte, so it wasn’t fair, wasn’t right that Sadie wanted so badly to wrap her arms around the other woman, to care for her in the way her heart was telling her to. A part of her still hurting for Jake, and yet still she wanted something more from a woman who had given her so much already.

And she couldn’t goddamn fall asleep, was too caught up in the heat and Charlotte’s breathing, the bite of the air on the few patches of exposed skin bared to the night. Too much in her head, churning with the way her stomach dropped when she thought of Charlotte, thought of her hair and her eyes and her voice.

Eventually, knowing Charlotte hadn’t fallen asleep yet, Sadie rolled to her back, said, like something overflowing, “I…” before trailing off again.

Wanted to swear at herself when she opened her mouth again and nothing came out. Of course, she’d lost her nerve near as quick as she gathered it up, a woman who could hunt down all sorts of bad men, but lost her nerve when it came to intimacy in another person. This was a goddamn _mess_.

She was still embroiled in the midst of shame over cowardice and trying to figure out what to say when Charlotte made the decision for her. Reached back and grabbed Sadie’s arm, pulled it so it was wrapped around her ribs, Sadie’s chest flush against Charlotte’s back. And Sadie, knowing she should pull back, instead took a shuddering breath, pressed her forehead to the back of Charlotte’s head.

“Is this alright?” Charlotte asked, and Sadie nodded her agreement into Charlotte’s hair.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Balfour.” More than fine, well beyond fine. “Are you warm?”

“Of course I am.” There was something soft to Charlotte’s voice, something that made Sadie’s chest ache, and she settled her arm a little tighter around Charlotte’s abdomen.

It still took Sadie a good while to fall asleep, long after Charlotte’s breathing had settled into the soft rhythm of sleep. But there was something warm in her chest now, a bright bloom that made her feel near achingly full.

* * *

Sadie was up building the fire before Charlotte stirred awake. She knew it was a coward’s move, making coffee instead of confronting what had happened the previous night. If she didn’t confront it, maybe they could just pretend it didn’t happen, and then nothing would change.

Was it alright to love another person again?

Sadie knew what it was like to lose the life she’d had, to lose the people that mattered for her. If she had to endure that again, it would break apart completely what had splintered when she lost Jake, her home, what she had been before. Losing Charlotte’s friendship, that might even be enough to do it.

She’d tacked both horses by the time Charlotte emerged from the tent, already dressed warm for the ride back to the house. Sadie gestured her over to help her load and secure the game, wanting to cut any conversation off before it happened. She couldn’t stand the idea that this might be the end of their friendship, and it had ended with something as simple as huddling for warmth.

Sadie was checking over Bob’s tack, about to mount, when Charlotte said from next to her, “I—”

“We should get movin’,” Sadie said, not looking up at Charlotte. “Gotta get back with enough time to get that deer skinned.”

It was a coward’s move, she knew that, knew it especially as Charlotte turned away from her with an exhale of air, went to mount Clover. Sadie never thought she’d see the day where she’d think herself a coward, and, yet, here she was, too afraid to confront the previous night’s intimacy. She was a mess.

They’d ridded in silence for a few minutes, once again wading through the snow to get back on the path, when Charlotte asked, the sound of her voice making Sadie flinch, “Listen, Mrs. Adler, did I do something wrong?”

“No—” Sadie blurted out near immediately, “no, of course not, and don’t get on the Mrs. Adler thing again, please. I just—I’m tired, I think.”

Charlotte was peering at her closely. “The cold does take it out of you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” Sadie said, ducking her head.

So Charlotte wasn’t upset, didn’t think Sadie had been too presumptuous the previous night. That was something, something good. But that didn’t—

Didn’t mean—

What did she even goddamn want from Charlotte? Wasn’t that the question?

Sadie had no issues with so called inversion. Sure, it was easier for a woman to be with other women than a man to be with other men, but she didn’t find either particularly bothered her. She knew, as much as she loved Jake, that she had felt the same love for girls in her youth, something that had felt just as real as her relationship with Jake in the early days.

But did she love Charlotte? Was that what this was? _Could_ she love Charlotte, after what had happened?

And could Charlotte even love her back?

It was half testing the waters, half just needing to break the silence that had settled between them when Sadie asked, “John and Arthur, they—they mention anythin’ about what they are now?”

Charlotte looked over, a crease between her eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean, so I assume not.”

“They, uh—maybe, maybe it’s not my place to say, but—but they were dancin’ around what they were for a long time, from the looks of it. ‘fore I left the first time, I was tellin’ John to just make a move with it ‘cause I couldn’t stand it anymore, but they—they’re together now.”

“Together?”

“Like, they love each other sort of thing. A relationship. Guess it’s somethin’ they worked out ‘long with Abigail.”

Charlotte turned her head away from Sadie. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Just—believe that explains a lot. How they wrote about each other, I mean. I didn’t ever think—but, I suppose, it wasn’t like I was there.”

“John was near sick with it for months. Tilly and I was takin’ bets about how long it would take them to finally crack.” Sadie glanced over at Charlotte, who still wasn’t looking at her. “You’re awfully calm about findin’ out some of your friends ain’t exactly looked kindly on by civilized society.”

Charlotte just shrugged her shoulders, something unreadable on her face. “If they love each other, then who are we to say they’re wrong, right? Besides, it isn’t like you all were looked kindly on before for all sorts of other reasons.”

“So you don’t see a problem with it?”

That got Charlotte to look over at her, and the expression on her face might’ve been something like worry. “Do you?”

“Nah, I’m happy for them, just—just ain’t many folks in this world who would agree. They still hang folks for things like that. It ain’t—ain’t somethin’ I would expect—I mean, comin’ from the life you did, right?” Because Charlotte was raised in society, raised by the type of man who made the laws that got folks hanged.

But Charlotte just lowered her eyebrows. “Listen, we’ve been told our whole lives that we have to be a certain way. I was told that constantly when I lived back in Columbus. But you, Arthur and John, Tilly and Abigail, all of you are living like something no one ever expected of you. If—if they’re happy, Sadie, being together like they are, then maybe it isn’t them that are wrong, not if they’re not hurting anyone. I—” Charlotte paused, bit her lip. “To tell you the truth, Sadie, I’m beyond judging people for the kind of love they have. Let that be left to what comes next, if the church cares so much.”

“I…” Sadie said, then swallowed. “That’s a mighty nice sentiment you got, Charlotte.”

But Charlotte just reshuffled her hands on the reins, looked away from Sadie. Something tentative in her voice when she asked, “Do you ever think you could love someone again? After—after being through what you, what we’ve been through?”

“Why?” Sadie asked voice quiet.

But Charlotte shook her head. “Just—just humor me, alright?”

Sadie rolled her shoulders. “Charlotte, I can’t—I can’t stand that sort of loss again. Love, maybe, but it’s the—it’s the losin’ I’m afraid of.”

Something in Charlotte seemed to fall at that, deflate, almost, and Sadie wanted to bite her tongue, immediately walk back what she said.

“That, that aint—” Because if it was Charlotte, would the loss be worth it? “Maybe, alright? Maybe. But I ain’t—ain’t ready to say yet. Not—not yet.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said, and again, “Okay.”

And Sadie thought that was the end of it, thought that she was left to the crunching of the snow under the horses’ hooves, the bite of the air against her cheeks.

But Charlotte cleared her throat, asked, in a voice so quiet that Sadie could only just hear it, “Would you… would you sleep next to me again tonight? I… After last night, I, I realized I’m tired of sleeping alone.” And then, biting her lip, “I mean, if you want to.”

Something achingly hot was radiating from Sadie’s chest. “Of… of course.” Because there was nothing she wanted more.

Charlotte didn’t look up at Sadie, just said, even quieter. “Thank you. I… thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bit in this chapter that is literally just Sadie going, “Gay people. Thoughts?”


	5. Plainfield and Willard’s Rest, 1901

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but it felt right for pacing reasons.

Sadie was drinking.

It wasn’t the best time for it, sure. Closer to midday than sunset, and she was one of the few folks in the saloon up in the north end of Plainfield. The rest were regulars, drunks that wouldn’t turn an eye to a woman in men’s clothing, not even if that woman looked half-inclined to drink herself under the table.

She’d decided to quit bounty hunting. Decided to make herself into something better, someone who could cope properly, and leave that life behind. It wasn’t like it was even doing much for her these days anyway.

Sadie had seen folks addicted. Swanson wasn’t the first, but he sure had been a memorable addict, only able to struggle up from the pit he’d dug himself when the world around him had gone to shit. But she knew, even then, the type, a man who was so caught in what made him feel better that he didn’t even notice when it stopped being enough to take the edge off.

There was a rabbit hole she could go down. There was a part of her she could lose in that life. A part of her she’d thought lost already.

She’d been ending up at Willard’s Rest more and more often these days, to the point where Arthur and John were starting to ask her circular questions about the whole thing and Abigail was asking more direct questions. And, the truth was, nothing was damn happening. Sure, she and Charlotte slept in the same bed more often than not, but it was just to stave off the loneliness that plagued the both of them. Sure, they ate and hunted and did chores together and talked and laughed and even cried once or twice, but it was something only edging intimacy.

They hadn’t even kissed, for Christ’s sake. And that was something Sadie was just starting to admit she wanted.

After she’d lost Jake, after she’d been held captive by the O’Driscolls, she’d thought there was nothing left in her aside from the cold, hard knot her heart had become. She’d expected to live her life alone, apart, scavenging a life from what was left in the ashes, what was washed in blood.

It wasn’t that Charlotte was replacing the part of Sadie that still longed for Jake, that still missed him with an ache. It was that she was building a new place inside of Sadie, a nest in a place that she’d never realized had been empty in the first place. Sadie still loved Jake, of course, would likely go on loving him until she died, would always think of him as the best man she’d ever known, but—but maybe Charlotte was the best woman. After all, how many other women could come out of what they’d been through and still be kind, loving, compassionate, and one of the best folks to talk to Sadie had ever met? Sadie sure hadn’t.

If there was a life there that would be something happy, was it so wrong that Sadie wanted that? Wanted to live a happy life, even after saying for so long that that sort of life was over for her? Wanted to leave behind the violence, because it wasn’t like the violence was even doing much for her anymore anyway? Charlotte had said, near a year ago now, that Sadie deserved to be happy. What sort of happiness was left beyond what she’d found at Willard’s Rest?

Of course, that was getting ahead of herself, wasn’t it? Because here she was, planning to give up the one thing she had left, and she didn’t even know if Charlotte felt the same way towards her, if Charlotte even wanted Sadie back. And, hell, who said that Charlotte would even consider love with someone like her? Sadie was a woman, after all, and not a particularly appealing specimen of one, not after everything she’d been through.

She was just ordering another beer when a man sat heavy in one of the stools down the bar, waved down the bartender. And Sadie was just about ready to ignore him like she was all the other patrons when he opened his mouth, said, “You hear? Word is Micah Bell’s around.”

“Micah Bell?” The bartender said it with an appropriate amount of revulsion and disgust. Sadie would drink to that if it weren’t for the cold sense of anticipation creeping into her stomach.

“Yeah. One of his men been drinkin’ few towns over. Only a matter of time ‘fore the law rounds him up, I’m thinkin’.”

“That’s if you trust the law to do anythin’ half efficient.”

“You sayin’ you don’t?”

“Ain’t that been the word? Bell’s got the law in his pocket?”

“Men sayin’ that been killed, way I heard it.”

“You say Micah Bell?” Sadie asked, making her voice the hard kind of loud that she had gotten used to using so often when she was bounty hunting. Before that, even, with the gang, before the gang, fighting to get respect in a world that didn’t think women like her deserved anything more than living the life of a housewife.

She’d been more than that with Jake. She was more than that with Charlotte.

“What’s it to you?” the man sitting at the bar said, eyeing her up and down, and she could see his reaction to her way of dress in the way his eyes narrowed. “We’re talkin’ here, eh? Run along, sweetheart.” And the bartender next to him rolled his eyes, maybe used to that sort of behavior, but didn’t exactly disagree either.

Fine. She was used to those sorts of men, the ones who thought women like Sadie were something akin to an abomination. And maybe she was, someone not meant for the civilized world, not with their beliefs, and not with their laws.

She didn’t mind, not as she got up from her seat, not as she slammed her knife into the rough wood bar, and not as she demanded, something as easy as breathing, to know where Micah Bell’s man was.

One last job, right? Not even a bounty at that. One last threat gone from Sadie’s life.

Then it would be done.

* * *

Charlotte was writing.

She’d largely dropped the habit after Cal died. It had been too much, too much inside her, to talk about the bear attack, the aftermath, nearly starving to death. She hadn’t wanted what she expected to be her last moments caught on paper, let alone relive the hardship that were Cal’s.

But, in writing to Arthur, him telling her about his journals, she’d wanted to pick up a diary again. She’d kept one for years, throughout her childhood and adolescence, and so she knew the benefits of one. Like some combination of talking to another person and talking to oneself. Her father would call it reflection, rethinking over information to take the important bits from it, to help oneself improve.

And she was trying, trying to write about her life, about the day-to-day business of Willard’s Rest. Of caring for Clover, feeding the chickens she’d picked up a few months back, cutting wood, hunting and fishing and gardening and all the other things she’d once thought herself incapable of doing, back when she lived in Columbus, in Chicago.

Problem was, it all came back to Sadie.

There was no one else in the world like Sadie Adler. Sure, Charlotte wouldn’t claim to have much knowledge of the world outside of the city, even after two years, but she was pretty sure that she could search for years and not find another Sadie. And that was both a blessing and a curse in Charlotte’s mind. Because she could sit here all day, writing page after page, tearing them all out and throwing them in the fire as they all came up the same. In the end, all she had on her mind was Sadie.

She’d picked up the mail this morning. A letter from Arthur was all that awaited her. Nothing from Sadie, hadn’t been for a while. And that shouldn’t have itched at her, not when Sadie was far from obligated to write, not when she had done so much for Charlotte already, and not when Sadie had her own life. After all, what right did Charlotte have to ask Sadie to give up bounty hunting? Give up bounty hunting for her?

She’d grown used to Sadie’s presence. That was the issue here, wasn’t it?

Charlotte had always been the type of girl in the schoolyard who wanted to impress all the older girls, to have them like her in the way she’d liked them. She hadn’t understood, at the time, what that made her, why friendships with some girls, some _women_, as she got older, didn’t feel like enough for her. It wasn’t until she’d kissed her father’s secretary that she realized just what she was.

She knew, of course, what happened to inverted men. Having a politician as a father meant some of the established laws she knew intimately. But, in city circles, that sort of thing was nearly accepted for rich women, the women who could get away with having folks look the other way.

If anything it was a surprise she’d fallen in with Cal, even though she’d loved him so much, only because her mother had claimed so many times that she was sure her only daughter would end up a spinster. Even then, her mother and father hadn’t approved, not of Cal, not when he was just some baker’s son from a few streets down.

Charlotte had loved him because, while he was kindhearted and nice to look at, he was also one of the few people in her life who accepted her for who she was. And maybe that was the reason he was the only man she’d ever be able to call herself in love with. Her mother, her father, all of the suitors they put in front of her, all of them were expecting, wanting her to be something that she wasn’t, that she could never be.

But Cal was different. Of _course_ he was different. He loved who she wanted to be, rather than what he wanted her to be. And he didn’t care that he didn’t have her parents' approval, and he didn’t have their dowry, and when Charlotte had expressed to him how stifled she felt with every aspect of her life, it was Cal who proposed eloping.

So they had been on their own. No family, no dowry. But Cal hadn’t cared, and that was why Charlotte had loved him as much as she did. With him there was no expectation to be the perfect politician’s daughter, to hold herself up to a standard she’d never wanted to meet.

In another life, maybe she could’ve been a woman like Sadie. Self-assured, strong, well versed in almost everything the world thought a woman couldn’t do. In this life though, she was pretty sure that how she thought of Sadie was something closer to how she’d thought of Cal. And that was a hard enough thing to admit.

It wasn’t Cal’s memory she was worried about. After all, she knew well enough from how well she’d known the man she loved that he would want her to be happy with her gone. If being happy meant throwing in her lot with another woman up in this little homestead in the woods, Cal would give her his blessing all the same.

But Sadie, Sadie had suffered trauma Charlotte couldn’t even imagine. Sure, Charlotte had watched Cal die, but she hadn’t been left at the hands of a violent gang afterwards. And, while that trauma shouldn’t preclude her from being able to find a happy life, that was ultimately Sadie’s decision. It wasn’t fair of Charlotte to ask her for something she wasn’t ready for, especially considering the fear of loss Sadie’d mentioned more than once now.

All that, of course, expecting if Sadie even felt the same for Charlotte in the first place. To that point, she was hopelessly lost.

Finally, after several torn out pages, Charlotte fumbled for the letter from Arthur. Figured she could distract herself at the very least. She knew that, with the horses and the sheep and the other ranch work, Arthur usually had interesting enough stories for her whenever he wrote. And she appreciated that, appreciated hearing about the happy lives of people she cared for.

Charlotte tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter. Read the first line, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

She was getting a train ticket to Absaroka.


	6. The Milton Ranch, 1901

There were a lot of things Charlotte was expecting when seeing the ranch for the first time.

She’d had it described to her in letters, of course, and then furthermore by Sadie. The benefits of having so many friends living in the same place was that she got multiple perspectives of life in Absaroka. Arthur, for instance, tended to talk about the animals on the ranch. His horses, his dog, the sheep, the chickens. On the other hand, John liked to tell her about people, about how Arthur was, how Abigail was, how Jack was growing, who was around.

Sadie, Sadie was more inclined to talk about the land and the world around the ranch. Sure, she’d give Charlotte more details if she asked, but more often than not it seemed she was avoiding some of the finer details, the bits that got too close to what she and Jake had had, back when they lived in Ambarino.

But she’d gotten enough. So Charlotte was expecting to see a home, a house carved from the land into something that could shelter a family, facilitate a good life. She was expecting the large pasture spaces, the sheep dotting a far hill, the horses that whuffed at Clover as she rode the mare into the ranch. She was expecting the chickens that scattered in the yard, the long, spring-green grass that coated the ground, the border collie that picked up her head as Charlotte approached, ears pricked from her spot on the porch.

Charlote was not, of course, expecting that her first ride up to the ranch would be accompanied by such a deep knot of worry in her stomach. She was not expecting to visit for the first time in this sort of circumstance. She was not expecting was for John Marston to open the door when she knocked and, rather than greeting her like he knew she was coming, instead pause with the door open, say, voice confused, “Charlotte?”

“John,” Charlotte said back, and then, because John was still looking at her with his eyebrows pressed low, continued, “It’s nice to see you too.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” Then, maybe realizing he wasn’t exactly giving Charlotte a warm welcome through his confusion, John shook his head, said, “That ain’t—I mean, I’m happy to see you, course, just—just you ain’t exactly who I was expectin’ to see. Weren’t—weren’t expectin’ anyone, all told, but—but ain’t you supposed to be over in New Hanover?”

Deciding it was about time to save John from himself and stop his rambling, Charlotte sighed, said, “I imagine Arthur didn’t tell you I was coming, then?”

That seemed to get a spark of understanding across John’s face, and he huffed, said, “No, no he didn’t.” He turned his head to the side, called Arthur’s name into the hallway behind him. When no one answered, he turned back to Charlotte, said, in something close to a mutter, “Think he’s outta the house. Goddamn… uh, you, you want a drink? I can, uh, get your bags? Are you—are you stayin’, or…?”

John still had a particular habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, and Charlotte still found herself fond of him for it. But she shook her head, said, “I’d like to see Sadie, if you don’t mind.”

“You—?” And then John’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he stammered, “Yeah, yeah of course, right—Arthur wrote you ‘bout—‘bout what happened, then?”

“She is alright, yes?”

“Sure, she’s—she’s ‘bout as well as a person can be, considerin’. Don’t—don’t think she knows you’re comin’, though I guess Arthur ain’t told any of us that, God knows why. C’mon, I’ll—I’ll show you down.”

John filled in some gaps for her as he walked her down to the hand house where Sadie was apparently holed up. A hunt to find someone they’d known that betrayed them, one that Sadie had brought to the ranch’s attention. A hunt that had ended successfully, if success was killing the man who needed to be killed, though Charlotte herself wondered just how successful it could’ve been if it ended up with Sadie stabbed at the end of it all. Alive, yes, but hurt, and Charlotte couldn’t claim to know anything about that life, about the one Arthur, John, Abigail, Sadie, Tilly, all of them had come from, but, somehow, it didn’t seem worth it. Not if it was risking taking away their own lives.

However, it had happened. And it sent enough of a panic through Charlotte’s chest, thinking of Sadie hurting, that there was no question in her mind that she needed to come out to the ranch. Needed to find an end to this, whatever it was, because the idea that Sadie could die out there and Charlotte would have no idea until Arthur wrote her a letter was something unbearable.

She barely noticed them passing over the packed earth of the yard, into the hand house, past the small living area. Her heart pounding as John gestured at a closed door, said, “She’s in here,” letting Charlotte go ahead of him.

It was like all thoughts dropped out of Charlotte’s head when she opened the door and saw Sadie. She didn’t look good, of course. Charlotte had never been stabbed, but she imagined it was far from a pleasant thing to heal from, even if Sadie was, at least, healing. At least she didn’t look as bad as Arthur had when he’d been hurt, and far from how bad Cal got in his final days, and that was somewhat a comfort to Charlotte.

Still, Sadie was pale, eyes sunk deep in a face that was usually so warm in color. Tucked up into bed, more tired than Charlotte had ever seen her, and yet something warm sparked in Charlotte’s chest upon seeing her awake. Awake, alive, even talking to the other people in the room, though that paused as soon as the door opened. Arthur was there with her, as was Abigail, both sitting in chairs around Sadie’s bedside, Arthur with a book in hand, though he wasn’t reading it. And all three of them turned when Charlotte stepped through the doorway, stunned faces that gave John’s a run for his money on every face but one.

Arthur was the one to give her a grin, something just shy of smug, said, “Mrs. Balfour. Glad you could make it.”

And the soft smile Sadie’s confusion broke into made Charlotte’s chest even warmer, even as Sadie turned her eyes to face Arthur, said, in a voice too fond to be actually annoyed, “You son-of-a-bitch, Morgan.”

Arthur had done this on purpose, Charlotte was sure of that now. And she found she didn’t even mind, because she loved Sadie. She knew that, and she knew she was tired of her own goddamn hesitation.

Charlotte was across the room in no more than a handful of steps and then her hands were on Sadie’s face, and Charlotte barely had time to think it through before she was dipping her head and pressing her lips to Sadie’s.

She’d often imagined what it would be like to kiss Sadie. She had, after all, kissed few women in her time, but most of them had been the sort to dress their faces up with makeup, to paint their lips the sorts of colors that made them stand out in the city. And that wasn’t Sadie.

It was warmer than she imagined. Not the best position, stooped over, but Charlotte didn’t mind, and neither did Sadie, judging by the way she pulled at Charlotte’s shirt, pulling the other woman even closer to her. One of Charlotte’s knees on the bed, and her mother would tell her how unladylike she was being if she could see her, and still Charlotte didn’t care. Because despite both of their chapped lips and lack of makeup and undone hair, she wouldn’t trade this for all the world could give her in exchange.

Finally, they pulled apart. Behind her, Charlotte could hear John ask, “Hey, what the hell just happened?” and a muttered argument, Arthur saying something about it being none of his business, Abigail repeating something about privacy, and finally a click as the handle of the door pulled shut. And Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that broke over her face as she leaned back, settled on the bed next to Sadie’s hips. The other woman was looking at her with an expression something like tentative amusement. Whether at John or Arthur or Charlotte kissing her before even saying hello or the situation as a whole, Charlotte didn’t know.

But she was smiling, and that was enough. “Hi,” Charlotte said, and the breathlessness of her voice surprised her.

“Hello,” Sadie said, and then, dipping her head, “I, uh, weren’t expectin’ that when I woke up this mornin’, I’ll say that much.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Sadie snorted. “Nah, you ain’t interrupted much. Arthur was just readin’, not long ‘fore you came in. Some silly romance novel we just got sent by a friend we used to know. Ain’t much well written, but Abigail likes to laugh at it, s’why she was in here too. Somethin’ to do, while I’m,” Sadie gestured to her body, “not allowed to move, ‘ccordin’ to Abigail.”

Charlotte couldn’t help the way her eyes followed, dipped to the beat-up shirt that served as bed wear, what must be covering layers of bandages over where the knife pierced her skin. Charlotte sighed, said, soft, “What did you do to yourself, you fool?”

“Got stabbed.” It was in a sheepish sort of tone, but Sadie raised her eyebrows, voice lighter when she continued, “Honestly I’m thinkin’ it was kinda worth it now.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Was mostly jokin’.” Clearly Sadie could see by the expression on Charlotte’s face that the joke didn’t land, though, because she huffed a breath, then winced at the pain it must’ve caused. “Listen, I know I ain’t really gonna be able to explain this proper, but the reason we rode out was to put a dangerous man we all had known in the ground. So that much _was_ worth it, ‘specially seein’ as I’m alive now and he ain’t, and I—Charlotte, you gotta understand, I would do it again every single time if I got the choice. But… but I am sorry for worryin’ you, alright?”

Charlotte found her throat tight as she swallowed. As much as she hated seeing Sadie hurt, as much as it brought back bad memories, something in her couldn’t blame the other woman. “It’s done, right?”

Sadie nodded. “It’s done. All of it. The bounty huntin’, the shootin’, it’s—it’s over. Think there’s some things I want to finally let go of.”

“Alright,” Charlotte said, and then, again, “Alright.” And that was enough.

Sadie’s eyes met hers, even as she brought a hand up, rested it on Charlotte’s cheek. And Charlotte put her own hand over Sadie’s, and Sadie’s gaze dropped to Charlotte’s lips, her voice quiet when she murmured, “I weren’t imaginin’ that, right? That really just happened?”

Charlotte, of course, knew what she meant. She found her voice equally low when she said, “Of course it did, Sadie. I believe it was a long time coming.”

But something crossed over Sadie’s face, something that made Charlotte’s stomach drop. “We can’t—Charlotte I ain’t, ain’t—” Sadie bit her lip, looked away— “Charlotte, what if somethin’ happens to you? I ain’t ready for that sort of—sort of grief, not again. It nearly _broke_ me last time it happened, and I ain’t sure I won’t shatter if it goddamn happens again. So I don’t… ah, Christ, I dunno.”

Sadie was still afraid of loss. Alright. Okay, she could understand that. “Look, Sadie, I’m not about to force you into anything you’re not ready for, and I—I understand the hesitation, but—but so what if we get hurt again? Is—is it worth it to deny what makes us happy just because of some potential misfortune?” And then Charlotte drew up her courage, asked the one thing that had been plaguing her mind for weeks now. “Would… would this make you happy, Sadie? Us… us together?”

Sadie swallowed, and it was harsh enough that Charlotte could hear it. Finally, “Yeah, I, uh—more, more’n anythin’, Charlotte. And… and you?”

Yes, Charlotte wanted to scream, yes, nothing in the world would make her happier. But she knew Sadie, instead asked, “You think I’d be all the way out here if it wouldn’t?”

Sadie huffed a breath halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “Fair ‘nough.” And then, asked too casually for it to anything but a question that had been on Sadie’s mind, “You ain’t worried ‘bout what Cal’s gonna think? Movin’ on?”

“Cal would’ve wanted me to be happy. I knew the man well enough to know that for sure. He…” And Charlotte sighed, sat up a little straighter, because there was still an edge of an ache that came with talking about Cal, as much as she knew what she was saying was true. “He would’ve thought that it was the good life that mattered, even if it came with another love. Are you… are you worried ‘bout what Jake might think?” Because there was a reason Sadie had asked, right?

Sadie just rolled her shoulders. “Ah, I dunno. Could say that he wanted me to live a happy life, but I ain’t never gonna know for sure. Man’s dead, and no amount of wishing he weren’t is gonna change that. I hope he would be glad for me, not livin’ my life miserable anymore, but I ain’t gonna know, and I—I gotta accept that.” And Sadie lifted her eyes, looked at Charlotte something soft. “And I… I think I love you, Mrs. Balfour.”

And then Charlotte was leaning forward and they were kissing again. Tentative at first, before Sadie slipped a hand up into Charlotte’s hair, pulled her gently deeper, and Charlotte happily went, and hell it was like everything she’d been wanting for months. Not hard but firm, nearly desperate, Charlotte with one hand fisted in the blankets, the other cupped gently around Sadie’s jaw.

And it was perfect, or near it, before Sadie made a pained noise, and Charlotte immediately pulled back, realizing she’d lent her weight too close, put pressure on the wound. Stammered, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But Sadie shook her head, said. “No, no, it’s alright. Christ, it’s beyond that. But—but maybe we oughta hold off a minute? We ain’t exactly gonna get anywhere with them nosey folks just a room over. Gossips, the lot of them.”

Charlotte couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, before she dipped her head, pressed her forehead to Sadie’s. “I’m patient. I’ve waited this long. What’s a little longer?”

“Makes the heart grow stronger, right?”

“Think I’m fond enough already.” And then, nothing truer, “I believe I love you too, Sadie Adler.”

Sadie’s hand went up, brushed softly against her cheek. “I know, Charlotte. God, do I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you this one would be shorter. I was considering an epilogue but I wasn’t sure what to include in one, seeing how this fic has only a few threads it needed to wrap up, and most of them came together in this chapter. This fic was mostly a self-indulgent project for a rare little ship I enjoy, so if you enjoyed reading it as well, I’m pleased to hear it!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [werewolfsquadron](http://werewolfsquadron.tumblr.com).


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